


Whumptober day 1- Shaky Hands

by InternetCannibal



Series: Whumptober/Whumpvember 2019 [1]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Character Death, Gore, Implied abuse, M/M, Necrophilia, This got outta hand, Whumptober, boyfriend to death - Freeform, btd lawrence - Freeform, dead dove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 01:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20986889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InternetCannibal/pseuds/InternetCannibal
Summary: Carter loved him, had loved him from the very moment he saw him first, hunched over a dead body.





	Whumptober day 1- Shaky Hands

Carter Reyes’ mind was spinning. He felt sick deep within his abdomen with adrenaline, like something dead was festering inside him, something bad. He staggers upright, breathing hard, then looks down at his hands. At the fresh, red liquid covering them, dripping through his fingers and down his pale forearms in little rivulets of colour. Of life. Slowly, that feeling in his gut starts to change.  
His eyes travel down, past his lightly trembling fingers, towards the handle of the garden shears he had embedded in the man’s throat.  
A man he knew, a man he loved. But the sensation he feels in his own chest is neither sadness nor grief, it is simply relief. 

The barefoot boy lifts a hand to his own throat and swallows, the pads of his bloody fingers pressing into the marks that the man now lying empty on the floor had left there. Deep bruises of ownership, and anger.  
Carter can’t bring himself to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t been strong enough to gain the upper hand in the struggle, but it was over now, and Lawrence was drifting in his precious river now.  
Lawrence had always obsessed over it, that mythical halfway point between life and death, and even though Carter had always drank whatever herbal concoction the man had given him, even when he was throwing up in the bucket and wracked with trembling and fever as the toxic teas poisoned him from the inside out, he never saw it. Perhaps that was why Lawrence stopped loving him.  
Perhaps that was why he had decided that Carter was put to better use as a corpse.

Carter loved him, had loved him from the very moment he saw him first, hunched over a dead body. At first, Carter had thought he had been burying it, but the grave in the woods was empty and dug up, smears of turned earth covered it and the man’s torso and forearms, and he was naked, making love to the cold corpse in the moonlight, panting like an animal with his long blonde hair falling from his ponytail into his face, sweat beading on his skin from the exertion.  
Carter had felt his breath hitch as he watched, his heart thud in a strange way, not to mention in other places. Something about the man’s body was beautiful, and the way he held the corpse was the way Carter wanted to be held. But falling for a murderer screwing a dead body in the woods was a risky gamble.  
Eventually, Lawrence would kill him. He knew it as surely as he knew that the man was rotted and wrong on the inside, and that he was undeniably attracted to him. Like called to like and so, he threw his self preservation aside and made a noise, just enough, and let the man get a glimpse of him, just a peek, enough to piss him off and give chase. That chase had ended in Carter being knocked unconscious and kidnapped, but he didn’t care, he was sick, maybe as sick as the man himself.

Over time, he had learned Lawrence’s brand of love and found a way to reciprocate it in a way that benefited both of them. The man was skittish, and strange, but Carter was at ease. They were so eerily similar in everything, the love of nature and the way living things worked, the fascination with the dead and the decomposed, bones and blood and flesh and rot. It was a match made...if not in heaven, then somewhere. It had been perfect. It had been perfect for almost three months. Lawrence had been unstable, and he lashed out, and he hurt Carter, many times making him bleed and cry and choke and bruise, but like the insects that were drawn to the unnatural, quiet man, Carter was drawn just as hard, and he took his punishments as silently as he could, with passivity and no direct eye-contact, and it had always been the key to calming Lawrence down. He’d put his hands on Carter’s face, trace his prominent cheekbones and whisper his apology, that he’d do better next time, and Carter always accepted it.  
Lawrence shared everything with him, and maybe that was his undoing, because Carter learned his tricks, his tells and when his life was on the line he turned them against Lawrence without hesitation. He crouches and straddles the corpse of his lover, reaching for the shears and pulling them from his flesh with a sick wet sound. He discards them, placing both his hands on the man’s bare chest, fingers splayed, and leans forwards to examine the damage. The sharp metal blades of the shears had sliced into Lawrence’s windpipe and nearly decapitated him. Carter could see his spine peeking through the hole. There was so much blood around him, framing his attractive face and soaking into his hair, his shockingly blue eyes, always staring at Carter like he had been a work of art, a living corpse he got to keep and use and abuse and take apart piece by piece, were glassy and unseeing. Lawrence was long gone, his soul or his energy or whatever it was he found wading the banks of that grey river fled his shell, ne’er to return.

Carter slides his fingers, sticky now as the blood on his hands dries, up Lawrence’s chest and around his throat, covering the gaping hole that had stolen his life away.  
The body is still warm, and Carter smiles a little, pressing his hands downwards, compressing his neck until his thumbs slip into the hole with a squish. A shudder passes through him, and not one of disgust. He didn’t mean to do it, he hadn’t meant to kill him, just stop Lawrence from ending his life. But now, Lawrence was the corpse naked on the floor, and Carter was the one with the power, and the knowledge of how to deal with him.  
Knowledge mostly imparted by the man himself, but Carter still had secrets. Things he’d kept from Lawrence about his past. About how he had learned to sew, and stitch animal pelts and bones back together. How he learned to preserve the dead, turn them into effigies, trophies. 

Carter leans down and removes his fingers from the wound in his boyfriend’s neck, shuddering as he moves them to his pale face. He traces his slightly parted lips, watching the blood turn them pink again, and then bends forwards at the waist, to press his own lips to them. The kiss is long, languid, he takes his time, heart beating rapidly, fingers moving to run through Lawrence’s bloody hair, breathing into him and getting no breath back. When he pulls back, his lips are smeared red and he licks them. There’s so many things he could do with Lawrence, now that his shell was his forever, but he restrains himself to just palming at his own shorts and squeezing until his hard-on has subsided. He has plans for his boyfriend’s cold corpse, and he’s not going to foul his body with genetic material and just make more work for himself.

As he reaches for the shears again, he catches sight of his hands, and they’re shaking. He finds a smile curving his lips as he runs his fingertips over the stained blades and feels his stomach flipflop with nerves. He’s never taxidermied a whole human being before, and knowing that Lawrence would have hated it, and feared it to his core gives him a boner again. He’s going to keep his lover forever, and there’s nothing he could do about it. Carter lets out a laugh that turns into a groan. Maybe he should service himself before he begins. His hands are still shaking as he reaches into his shorts, but he knows why its happening now.

He’s shaking with anticipation.


End file.
